


But I don't weep, do you?

by ariellab12



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (House of M), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/F, F/M, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt, M/M, Time Travel, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3372311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariellab12/pseuds/ariellab12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard Stark stares at the creased and bent Polaroid picture of his son and feels something stir inside him that hasn’t been awoken in a very, very long time. If he were honest with himself, which he wasn’t most of the time,  he wasn’t sure how the picture even got there—in between the stacks and stacks and stacks of papers he had to sign, but forgot. (If he were even more honest, he would tell you he didn’t even remember when the last time he saw his son was—and that stirred something awake far worse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic inspired by the poem Bluebird by Charles Bukowski  
> All rights are Marvel's 
> 
> I don't really know what I wrote

 

 

_but I don’t weep, do you?_

 

 

Howard Stark stares at the creased and bent Polaroid picture of his son and feels something stir inside him that hasn’t been awoken in a very, very long time. If he were honest with himself, which he wasn’t most of the time,he wasn’t sure how the picture even got there—in between the stacks and stacks and stacks of papers he had to sign, but forgot. (If he were even more honest, he would tell you he didn’t even remember when the last time he saw his son was—and that stirred something awake far worse)

He didn’t remember putting the small picture there. It was almost symbolic, the picture of his son crammed on his desk at Stark Industries, like everything else he had forgotten. 

Anthony looked to be four or five in the picture. His dark locks—so much like his—were sticking up _everywhere_ and he could practically feel Maria’s, his wife, pain through the picture. She had spent hours trying to tame young Tony’s hair. His hands are tiny, and tinkering with wires and metals and knobs, that would eventually make a circuit board. His eyes are bright, staring right at the camera like the flash caught him off guard. His eyes are bright, dancing with intelligence, and _burning_ with a fire so passionate it caught Howard’s breath. 

He remembered the first time he realized Tony was a genius. It had been some time before this picture was taken, and Howard had just came back from a Stark business meeting. He walked down to his workshop, located in the basement of their mansion and forbid anyone to enter, and found little Tony sprawled on the cold floors rewiring an old computer. 

At first, Howard has been furious. He knew someone was supposed to be watching Tony, to keep him out of trouble and especially away from Howard’s work area. He had shouted—at a _three year old child—_ but Tony kept calm and only stared up at Howard with large, brown eyes so curious and so _sure_. 

He had said, “Daddy, I made somethin’ for you,” and then continued to rewire the computer for a few minutes, his hands looking so tiny and fragile, but moving without a falter. Then Tony turned it and showed Howard what he did.

Howard was speechless. He watched in amazement as Tony showed him how he had taken apart the computer, and then made it _better._ Taking out the weaknesses, and strengthening it. Just. Like. That. 

His son, with the fire in his eyes that was going to scorch anything in it’s path. His son, with the absolute certainty in his swift movements. His son, who was going to raise hell to change the world one day.

That was the moment Howard saw himself in Tony.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

 

 

~~~~

 

The following years blew past him, and he didn’t know where they went. He had forgotten about time, as he worked and worked and worked. He worked until all he could do was work, and then some more. He would come home late, or not at all, and hardly got to see Tony, or even Maria. (Who always gave him sharp-edged smiles, and clipped tones when he finally managed to come home.)

One minute, Tony was sprawled across the cold workshop, staring at him with those damned eyes, and calling him “daddy”. Then he was sitting there was a fully functioning engine, grinning mischievously because he managed to make it pass the nannies once again. The next time he looked, Tony was fourteen with bags packed for MIT _—_ Jesus Christ, _college_ —and neither had big eyes or a mischievous grin. Instead, wore a frown and his knuckle were white as he gripped at his suitcase. 

He said in a cold sharp voice, that made Howard wonder who taught him how to speak like that, “See you in a couple of years, _Howard.”_

Then he was pushing pass him, out of the house and out of his life.

He glanced over at Maria, his beautiful, beautiful wife, with her dark hair and wide eyes just like Tony’s. She gave him one of her razor smiles, as she shook her head and laughed scornfully.

“You’re two hours late,” she said, thrusting an envelope in his hand. 

It was Tony’s acceptance letter. 

 

~~~~

 

Somewhere in between the the long, painful hours of work and the cold, lonely nights, he wondered what Steve Rogers would say if he were here to see Howard like this. 

What he would say when he saw Howard creating bombs and weapons and guns for war. When he saw Howard drinking himself into oblivion _every_ night before he had to return to Maria’s silent misery. When he saw him missing all of Tony’s childhood, and now his teen years. Would he say anything at all? Would he wonder how Howard got this way? What he’s done to himself?

He thinks Steve would tell him to correct it. That there was still _time_ to reconcile his sins, that he wasn’t dead just yet (though sometimes he felt it) and Howard thinks he can for a little bit. He thinks he can stop ruining millions of innocent people’s lives, he thinks he can stop his drinking, make Maria happy, connect with his genius son who was _so_ much like him. 

Then he can’t think of what Steve would say at all. And that’s what scares him the most. 

He knows what Peggy would say though, and that’s only because in the year of 1991, the same day Howard find the Polaroid picture —Tony had already graduated MIT and was now doing “whatever the hell he wanted”, as he had put it so kindly—she had come to visit him from London. 

Even in her late sixties, Peggy was a stunning sight. Her hair now white, and her skin fair and wrinkled, she walked into his office at Stark Industries with the same amount of poise and confidence she had in the forties. 

“Peggy?” He demanded, shocked and standing up quick as security guards ran in after her. 

“Ma’am, you can’t run in like that—” one of the older one’s—that Howard really wished he could the fellow’s name—said, attempting to pull her gently out of the room. 

“I would suggest you remove your hand from my arm, sir, or you might lose it,” Peggy said curtly, glaring coldly at the man.

The guard looked as if he were going to cry, but he tried to keep a sturdy ground before Howard intervened. 

“It’s fine,” he said, coming around his desk to meet Peggy. “She’s no threat.”

Peggy threw him an incredulous look, raising a single brow at him as if she took that as a personal dare. 

He chuckled, despite him. “No _immediate_ threat. Thank you, though,” he added, as the security guards gave Peggy distrusting looks before they nodded obediently and exited. 

He turns back to Peggy, drinking the sight of her in. He smiled at her. 

“Peggy,” he said, pulling his long lost friend into a firm hug. 

“Howard,” she replied, her British accent thick now. “Long time no see.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “How long has it been now? Twenty years?”

“Give or take,” she allows, grinning at him. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, gesturing for them to sit down. 

“Can’t a girl come to visit her long lost friend once and awhile? I know it’s been a long time, but would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

“No,” Howard replied honestly, settling in his chair and facing her from across the desk—still stacked high, with tons and tons of papers. 

“The last time you visited because you, quote on quote, ‘missed me’, was also around the same time you came to tell me my friend and long-time business partner Anton Vanko was a no-good, filthy, traitorous crook. So, which one of my friend’s has betrayed me now?”

Peggy grins that guiltless, know-it-all grin at him, and he swears he gets flashback from forty years ago. 

“I’m actually in town on S.H.I.E.L.D business, if you must know,” she said. “Thought I’d pop in for a visit.”

Howard’s surprise showed easily on his face. “S.H.I.E.L.D business? Really? I think I would’ve heard if you were coming in town from Fury.”

She shakes her head. “You wouldn’t have. Top secret.” He somehow doubts this, but doesn’t say otherwise. “How are you? How is Maria? I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

Howard blinks at the sudden change of subject, picking up easily at her deflection. 

“I’m good, Maria’s good, we’re all…good,” Howard said lamely, trailing off. He winced at his words—he knew for a fact he wasn’t good, Maria wasn’t good, and Tony…well Howard didn’t know anything about Tony now a day’s. 

Peggy could obviously see right through him, like she always could. She raised a skeptical brow, her lips thinning. 

“When was the last time _you_ spoke to Maria?” Peggy called him out right away, like she always did, clearly taking no bullshit. 

Howard sighed, sitting back in his chair. It had been a long time since someone asked about his personal life. To everyone else in the world, Howard Stark was the perfect American dream. Successful company, beautiful wife, genius kid, happy family, tons of money. Of course, no one knew the truth. That it was all _fake._

“There’s not much talking in Stark Mansion these days, Pegs,” Howard said, his voice sounding weak and vulnerable and making him cringe. But he remembered whom he was speaking to. Peggy looked at him with worried and sympathetic eyes. 

“I thought so,” she muttered, frowning. “The magazines make you out to be some type of perfect, star-spangled family. But that’s never how it’s been, is it?”

Howard shook his head sadly. “Maybe once, long ago, when everything was new and fresh and easy. But then…God, I don’t know, Peggy. It all went to shit.”

Peggy stared at him, taking in his tired eyes and wrinkled face. “And Anthony?” She inquired softly. “How is Anthony these days?”

That was it for him—he started laughing. It was a humorless laugh, that ached his bones and filled his stomach with something he couldn’t figure out. His fingers skirted the rough edges of the Polaroid picture he found a few hours ago. 

“Tony and I haven’t talked in years,” he admitted, still laughing like he couldn’t help himself. His stomach ached. “Tony hasn’t wanted to talk to me in years. He hates me with every fiber of his being, Peggy, every single fiber.”

He saw the immediate shock on her face as he said those words. She obviously wasn’t expecting that. The few times they’ve talked on the phone—a very limiting amount—he never admitted anything like that. He usually told Peggy all about Tony’s accomplishments, or all of his accomplishment’s, so she wouldn’t see the failure of their relationship.

Suddenly he felt himself crying. Hot tears slowly trailed down his cheeks, surprising him greatly. The last time he had cried was…well, Tony’s birth. Maria always joked that Howard was born without tear ducts. Sometimes Howard thought she was right. 

“Howard—” Peggy started, clearly alarmed at the sight of Howard crying, something _she_ hasn’t seen since Steve Roger’s death. 

He wiped a hand over his face, clearing any trailing tears from his cheeks. “I’m sorry—I’m fine, really. Just… _tired.”_

She was quiet for a moment, as Howard pulled himself together. He kept his face in his hands, though, unable to look Peggy in the face. Now wasn’t a very great time for him to see her—it seemed finding a simple picture of young Tony made him regret every single thing he’s ever done in his lifetime. 

People thought Howard was this great man, this genius engineer, but in reality he was a failure. He failed his family, he failed Peggy, he failed Steve. He made weapons that killed millions and millions of people. The only thing he’s ever done is…destroyed things. No wonder Tony refused to speak to him, and Maria couldn’t look at him. He destroyed everything he touched, including people. 

“Howard,” Peggy said again, softly. “I had no idea your relationship with Tony was so awful. I knew it was strained, maybe…but you never…he never either—Howard, when was the last time you saw him?”

Howard laughed scornfully again, face still in his hands. “I can’t remember.”

There was a deafening silence, and Howard could feel himself being strangled in it. God, he wanted Peggy to say something. He wanted her to tell him it was alright, that she was going to fix it, but he knew nothing could fix all those goddamned mistakes he made. 

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Peggy finally said, “Come on,” and her small hands were on his shoulder suddenly, trying to pull him up. “Let’s go.”

He looked up at her in confusion. “What? Go where?” 

She gave him a strict look, but her hands were soft against his skin, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. 

“We’re going to see your son.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. (I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you.)

Howard and Peggy drove to Tony’s apartment. Well, Howard got his driver—a very young man named Happy—to drive him to Tony’s apartment. 

He actually didn’t know where his son’s apartment was located—he paid for it, and paid for everything in it, but he didn’t know where it was. The thought made him sick for a few moments. He practically had an anxiety attack on the way over, and Peggy had to keep reassuring him it was going to be fine. 

But Howard knew it probably wasn’t. He knew Tony was a bit…careless sometimes. He supposed that was his fault. He wasn’t sure how Tony would react to seeing him, if he would even talk to him. The thought of Tony slamming the door in his face…well, it didn’t help with the sudden sickness he was feeling in the bottom of his stomach. 

“How much longer, Happy?” Peggy asked, sensing Howard’s discomfort and throwing him another one of those stern looks. 

“We’re almost there,” Happy answered casually. 

Howard looked outside—his son was living in a nice loft in Manhattan. Of course he was, he didn't know why he was surprised. Tony was always living a modern life style, but Howard didn’t expect him to be so _close_ to Stark Industries, and never visit. 

“How long are you going to be, sir?” Happy asked, as they pulled up to the curve. 

Howard was very distracted, exiting the car without a word. Peggy had to tell Happy that it might be awhile, and they would call him. 

“It’s going to be fine, Howard,” Peggy reassured him for the millionth time. 

“This is a terrible idea,” he muttered, entering the building. “Of course it was your’s.”

Peggy snorted. “It’s because it was mine that it’s actually going to work.”

He hadn’t enough energy to even snap a sarcastic comment back at him. As they got to Tony’s apartment—twelfth floor, because of course Tony had to be in the highest room—Howard felt knots twist his stomach. He couldn’t do this, oh no, he definitely could not face Tony, but he wanted to. He wanted to see his son, his—twenty? Twenty one year old son. It was the only thing that kept his legs moving until they reached his door. 

“Do you want me to stay or leave?” Peggy asked gently, standing next to him. 

“Stay,” he said automatically. “But you might need to knock on the door for me.”

She threw him a withering, yet sympathetic look, and quickly knocked on the door for him.

Howard held his breath—he heard rumbling in the apartment, something crashing to the floor and a loud, “Fuck!” before approaching footsteps and then—

The door swung open, and Howard immediately got a huge whiff of…marijuana? The smell distracted him for a moment, but he focused his eyes on the man before him. 

It was definitely Tony—his hair was still messy and _everywhere_ in a way that would have Maria screaming, and he was taller, broader, with built muscles and a lean figure. He was wearing old jeans, covered in oil and other stains that he couldn't identify, and a Grateful Dead T-shirt that made him smile. Howard moved to his face—he had a light stubble stretched across his chin, and dark circles under his eyes that made Howard think he hadn’t slept in weeks maybe. His eyes hadn’t changed—there was a fire in them, wide with wonder, shock and a little bit of anger. 

“Da—Howard?” Tony stuttered, clearly catching himself before he said ‘dad’. 

Howard smiled a little at him. “Hi, Anthony,” he said. 

“Wh—uh, what are—what are you doing here?” Tony stumbled over his words, his eyes wide and—blown?—taking in every detail of Howard. 

“I came to—well, I came to see you,” Howard answered awkwardly, finding himself a little shell-shocked to see how _grown up_ Tony was. No longer was the gawky teenage boy, but a confident man, grown into his skin. How had Howard missed so much?

“What?” Tony demanded, brows pulling together in confusion. He suddenly got this guarded look, as he analyzed Howard with his sharp brown eyes. Suddenly, he noticed Peggy and gave her a narrowed look. “Who are you?”

Howard was a little surprised by his rude tone, but didn’t get the chance to say anything. 

Peggy smiled at Tony. “Now, Anthony Stark, I’m very hurt to see you don’t recognize me!”

Of course, Tony had never seen Peggy in person, except for when he was born. But he clearly recognized her voice, as his eyes lit up once again and his face slacked of the guarded look. 

“ _Aunt Peggy?”_ He demanded, jaw dropping as he took in her appearance. “What—what are _you_ doing here? Is something wrong? Did something happen to mom—”

“No, no,” Peggy assured him right away. “Everything is quite alright. We really did come to see you, Anthony.”

Tony’s mouth hung open a little again, before he snapped it shut and sent an uneasy look into his apartment. He ran a hand over his face, shocking Howard once again to see how much Tony looked like _him_. 

“I’m going to have to invite you guys in, aren’t I?” He muttered, giving them both a calculating look. 

Before either of them could answer he bit out, “Give me a quick sec,” and then cracked the door shut. 

Howard and Peggy exchanged a confused glance, as they heard more scuffling and rushing footsteps behind the door. In another minute, the door swung open once again, but behind Tony were three young women. Two of them were blonde, and one was a redhead, and they were all wearing mismatching, skimpy outfits that gave Howard an idea exactly what Tony was up to before they came. 

It felt like he had been slapped in the face—he knew Tony was a twenty one year old male, but it slipped his mind that he would be…doing that, like every other twenty one year old male. And, come on, _three girls?_ In his mind Tony was still…well, innocent. But it was becoming quite clear he was anything but. 

The two blondes giggled, one leaning in and kissing Tony on the cheek while the other slipped something in his back pocket, before they were moving pass Howard and Peggy. 

“Bye, Tony!” They said, laughing as they went. 

The redhead exited the room then, pressing a quick kiss to Tony’s lips. “Call me,” she said, grinning and handing him a piece of paper. As the last girl finally sauntered down the hallway, Howard turned back to Tony and gave him an incredulous look. 

Tony didn’t look the tiniest bit flustered, he didn’t look embarrassed. He just swung the door open wider, and turned back inside, gesturing for them to follow him. 

Howard and Peggy entered, quietly shutting the door behind them. 

“Well, welcome to my humble abode, and all that crap,” Tony said. “Sorry, it’s a little messy, but I wasn’t expecting company.” 

(Howard heard the smirk in the words even if he didn’t see it)

Howard looked around the loft—and it was big, and spacious and was the opposite of cozy. It was clear this was a bachelor pad. A bed set up in the back corner—the sheets tangled and a bra left behind—a single test loaded with a bunch of papers, a large window overlooking the city, and a kitchen that looked like it served mostly as a bar. Though, in the very far corner, next to the bathroom, seemed to be a very small workshop of some kind. It had many scattering electronics, metals and all types of things, some in boxes and others just laying around the two tables set up. Blueprints and computers were also lodged around the tables, and it seemed Tony was currently working on something. 

Peggy gave the apartment a scathing glance around, her nose wrinkling in disgust. 

“Anthony, may I ask why the room smells like marijuana, or do I even want to know?” Peggy asked politely, following Tony as he made his way to the bar-kitchen. 

Tony’s cheeks heated up—embarrassed by drugs, but not by three barely-dressed women?—and he glanced over at Howard quickly before focusing his eyes on Peggy. 

“Ah, well, my dear Aunt Peggy-whom-I’ve-never-met, when you have a benighted, long-haired, sandal-wearing, flower child who believes the government is _not_ watching our every move for a neighbor, they tend to undertake illegal activities, like smoking marijuana, and as a result of shitty and drafty air vents in this supposedly not-so-shitty apartment building, I get a room that smells suspiciously like drugs,” Tony said, all in one breath, in a very calm and cool voice. “Dubious, isn’t it?” He threw Peggy a wiry grin.

Howard blinked. He remembered Tony used to do that as a defense, even back when he was a kid—spit out his sarcastic dialogues at auctioneer speed. Of course he had just gotten better at it in age, it seemed he hardly faltered once as he mustered up the very believable story. Though, Peggy obviously didn’t fall for it. 

“You can’t fool me like that, with a few big, scary words and fast sentences,” she replied easily, giving Tony the famous ‘stern’ look. 

Tony only threw his head back and laughed—the sound amazing to Howard, who forgot what his laugh had sounded like. 

“Oh, indubitably, aunt Peggy, I wouldn’t aspire to machination antagonistic towards you in any way, whatsoever,” he said playfully. 

“Just because I don’t understand a few words in that sentence, doesn’t mean I don’t get the point, kid,” Peggy huffed, shaking her head at him but grinning anyway. 

Howard felt lost, and a little left out, but he was just glad Tony was allowing him in his company.

“Can I offer either of you a drink?” Tony asked, seemingly politely but the words still sounded mocking. He pulled out a bottle of Jack from one of the top cabinets, and no way, no way was Howard ready to _drink_ with his son, but of course he accepted it any way, as Peggy did as well. 

“Dum-E, get us some glasses, will ya?” Tony ordered, and Howard and Peggy both looked around for someone they thought they missed, but then immediately zeroed in on the robotic hand machine that began rolling around the kitchen and opening a lower cabinet for glasses. 

Howard watched on with glowing pride when he realized Tony made that. He remembered hearing about it from him—Tony had made it right as he graduated MIT. 

“That’s pretty impressive,” Peggy commented, before Howard could say anything—if he could even say anything—as she also watched on in amazement as the robot followed the command and retrieved the glasses for Tony. 

Tony looked surprised, like he forgot the robot was even there. 

“What, Dum-E?” He asked, laughing as he petted the slow bot, beginning to move back towards it’s corner. “Nah, he’s a huge fuck-up, worst than Butterfingers,” he pointed to another robotic, hand-helping machine that sat next to the small workshop. It made a sad noise, bowing it’s ‘head’ like it understood exactly what Tony had said. And apparently, it did, because Tony snorted at it, pouring three glasses of whiskey. “Shut-it, Butterfingers, before I decide to turn you into something useful—like a coffee maker.”

The machine made another sad noise, turning towards the corner of the room like it was in time-out. 

“Amazing,” Howard muttered, staring at the machine in awe. 

Tony froze, clearly hearing the words. He glanced over at Howard again, with wide eyes. They met eyes for a very long moment, and it seemed an entire conversation was said just in that look Tony was giving him. 

Then, Tony looked away quickly, his cheeks reddening and lift the glass of whiskey to his lips, before downing in all in one go. Howard thought he should be a little concerned by that. 

“Thank-you,” Peggy said as Tony handed her a drink, and then pushed one towards Howard, who took it with a nod.

“But, Tony,” Peggy continued, watching the robots, “You do realize how amazing this is? How do they understand what you’re saying?”

Tony was pouring himself another glass. “Eh, they both have their own A.L and sentiency, with enough intelligence to understand my order’s as well as display emotion.” 

“You created Dum-E in MIT, right?” Howard asked tentatively, figuring it was easier to keep on a safer subject for right now. 

Tony eyed him suspiciously. “Yah.”

Peggy whistled appreciatively. “Bloody hell, Tony, how old were you? Seventeen? Sixteen? I mean, grown men couldn’t figure this out. Howard couldn’t even manage to scrap something like this together! And you, still a a teenager, managed to do it?”

Tony fumbled with he glass, and he blushed. It seemed he didn’t take compliments well, and Howard winced, because once again that was probably because of him. 

“Er, yah, I guess,” Tony shrugged, glancing over at Howard again. 

An awkward moment settled over them. Tony gulped down another glass of whiskey, Howard watched him with sad eyes, and Peggy pretended to look anywhere else but them. 

It was clear Howard was going to have say something about why they came in the first place. He had a million things to say to Tony, but just…no actual words to speak. He wish Tony could just read his mind.

After a few moments, they all tried to talk again. 

“So, should I ask about the three girls leaving here?” Peggy asked. 

“Looks like we can’t avoid the giant elephant in the room any longer,” Tony said. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to your graduation,” Howard blurted out, all at the same time. 

“Oh no,” Peggy muttered. 

“ _What?”_ Tony demanded, his head snapping up and glaring at Howard with fierce eyes that scorched heat. “What did you just say?”

Howard suddenly lost his confidence, but spoke up to his son anyway. “I said I was sorry I didn’t show up to your graduation.”

Tony’s mouth dropped, but then snapped shut into a thin line as he started at Howard with narrowed eyes. “Oh, _now_ you’re sorry?”

He winced at the tone, but attempted to pacify anyway. “I know, I should have said it sooner—” but apparently the words snapped Tony, and was now on a rant. 

“We don’t need to have this conversation,” Tony snarled. “Trust me, you do not want to have this conversation with me.”

“I came here to talk to you, Tony,” said Howard quietly. 

“Uninvited you came here, after years of not talking to me, and the only reason I let you in is because you brought Aunt Peggy,” Tony replied harshly. His eyes narrowed again. “That’s the only reason you brought her, isn’t it? You knew I wouldn’t slam the door on both of you. God, you are just as horrible as I remember.”

“No!” Howard said, suddenly panicked. “No, I swear, Tony, I didn’t do that. It was her idea to come—she knew I wanted to talk to you, I want to start things over, and be a better father to you.”

“It was her idea to come?” Tony demanded, because of course he caught that slip up. 

Suddenly the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Howard could feel the explosion about to happen, he saw it in Tony’s eyes, so light with beautiful rage, and all Howard wanted to do was hug his son, hug his son like he has never done before but Tony was so, so angry. 

“It’s been four fucking years!” Tony snapped, his voice sharp and bitter. “I graduated from fucking MIT at seventeen, top of my class, and you couldn’t get off _work!”_

“I know I messed up, Tony. I know I’m a terrible father, but I’m trying to—”

“Trying to what? Apologize for _never_ being there? We haven’t talked in years, dad, _years_ and don’t try to blame that on me because a phone call goes both ways.”

Howard’s heart clenched at hearing Tony call him ‘dad’ for the first time since he was…god, who knows how old. He watched Tony, all sharp words and sneering smiles, and with a jolt Howard realized Tony was also just like his mother. And god, did he look like her right now. He even sounded like her. 

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know,I know. You have every single right to be mad at me, to rage at me, I know that,” Howard said, keeping his voice from raising even a little bit, but his pulse was rising from seeing Tony so furious at him all the sudden. “And I’m so sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am, and it doesn’t make up for shit, I know that as well, but please…I’m your father, Tony, and I miss you, you must—”

“You don’t fucking know me!” Tony yelled all the sudden, the rest of the apartment suddenly silent—even the robots stopped moving in the corner. “Do you know how terrible it was to watch all my friends parents be there for them? How awful it was to walk off the stage to _no one?_ I thought, you haven’t been there for me my entire life, but maybe, just fucking maybe, you’d want to be there for my graduation!” 

“I wanted to be there, Tony, please, I wanted to be there so badly.”

“No you didn’t! Why are you lying? You were never there for anything else, I was an idiot to believe you would come, I realize that now—”

“No, Tony, you’re wrong,” Howard cut him off quickly, moving closer towards his son. “You were not an idiot. I should have been there. I should have been there.”

“Of course you should’ve fucking been there, but why start being a father then? You’ve never been my father,” Tony snarled, his words harsher than whips and coming out like a snake’s venom. 

(He thinks he hears Peggy’s gasp, but all he can do is try again to reach Tony)

“You are my son,” Howard whispered, feeling like the rooms were shattering against him. 

Tony stood tall, shaking in anger, and Howard could not even look him in the eye any longer. 

“No—I’m not” he replied, very softly, yet with a such a hard impact it almost knocked Howard off his feet. He held the edge of the kitchen counter for grip.

“Tony, please—”

“I want you to leave.” 

Tony turned away from him, facing the windows. His back was so tense. 

“Tony—”

“I want you to _leave now_ ,” he repeated, this time with more fury. “Get the fuck out of here! I don’t want to ever see your face again!”

Howard closed his eyes, the world collapsing around him. He knew this would happen—he knew, why had he even tried hoping? Of course Tony would feel this way…Howard wasn’t his father, at least not in his eyes. 

Without looking at Peggy—as she covered her mouth with a single hand, and unshed tears in her eyes—he slowly pushed himself off the counter, and then quietly crept to the door, like an unwanted mouse, feeling shameful and so, so hurt. And then, with one last look at his boy, his beautiful boy with a rage that could bring down heaven, he slipped out the door. 

And ran, like he always did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yah sooo....idk.This is bad. Feelings.


	3. (but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke.)

Howard sat in the car again. He sat with his head in his hands, replaying and replaying Tony’s words in his head like it was a broken a record he couldn’t turn off. After a few seconds of trying to calm himself, he felt Peggy slip into the car, her presence doing nothing to ease him as it usually did. 

“Howard—” she started. 

“Don’t,” he warned, clenching his fists against his eyes. “Don’t say anything, Peg.”

She didn’t for a moment, simply sighed and buckled her seat belt. She whispered something to the driver, and soon the car was moving again. 

_God, you are just as horrible as I remember._

Was he that horrible? Had he fucked up that dramatically? Had he made his son hate him so much that he did not ever want to see him again? He ruined everything he touched, and he hoped, god he prayed that Tony would do better than him, be a better man than him. 

_You don’t fucking know me!_

And he didn’t. He did not know Tony at all. He never even read any of the press magazines about his son. Half of America probably knew Tony Stark better then him. He really wished that feeling in his stomach would go away soon, he really did not want to throw up in the car. 

_But why start being a father then?_

“Howard, stop,” Peggy demanded softly, a hand curling around his shoulder and trying to ease him back up. “I know that was awful for you, but it was a step! You crossed the bridge between you two, and there’s a lot of repairing that needs to be done, but I can see that it can be done, Howard!”

“He’s not a car,” Howard snapped, pulling his fists away from his eyes and pointedly looking away from Peggy’s worried face. “He’s not a car, and he’s not a bomb. I can’t fix this. I don’t know how.”

That was probably the worst part of all this. Howard was a genius—he knew that, half the world knew that. He was a man ahead of his time, and could solve any problem thrown at him any time of the day—but he could not fix things with his son. He had never been a family man. His father had never been a family man either, nor his mother, both of them working so hard to just get food on the table for him, and he _knew_ that. He didn’t care, he knew his parents had to work. But Howard _didn’t_ have to work, he could have taken time off for Tony, just for a bit. Maybe gone to a baseball game with him, or taken him to a movie. He did not need to work all the time, half his millions had been made way before Tony was born, he could have taken days off. And the thing was, Tony knew that too. So it ended up looking like Howard didn’t want to do those things, that he didn’t care—and he had to stop himself, here, as he thought…did he care? When Tony was a small thing, with boney ankles and sharp elbows, did Howard care? Did he care enough to take him to the movies, or a baseball game? 

Sometimes, he thinks about his company. He thinks about Stark Industries, and his millions of dollars, and wonders if it was worth it. He wonders if all the fame and fortune took something from him? He was a man with everything, yet nothing but a broken family who hated each other. 

“I can’t fix any of it,” he whispered to Peggy, who was still had a strong hand pinning him down to the seat like she was holding him together. 

“Yes you can,” Peggy said, her voice heated and commanding as always. “You are Howard Stark, and you can fix anything. It might take more time, and you are going got have to be willing to give him the patience, Howard.”

Howard looked over at Peggy—at her acute eyes, so filled with hope, and her thinned lips, so demanding. He smiled softly at her, briefly, reaching up and connecting her hand with his. 

“At least you crossed that first bridge,” Peggy sighed, leaning against him. “He got all his angry feelings out. Now you can mend things.”

“He definitely has more angry feelings, Peg,” Howard quipped, ignoring the sting his own words caused him. 

“Maybe,” Peggy agreed, laughing. “But he was shocked to see you, and so obviously not in the right state of mind. That marijuana scent was too strong to be just from the drafty _vents.”_

Howard snorted amusedly. “And what about that whiskey thing? I think I’d rather died right there then drink a shot of whiskey with my son.”

Peggy laughed with him, clearly trying to lift the mood. “At least he’s legal.”

“Barely—”

It was then, in that moment of relieving laughter with his old time friend, the car jerked. Howard caught his breath, his face hitting the back of the passenger seat, Peggy jerking to his left with a small, surprised gasp. Before he had time to catch his breath, or confirm Peggy was okay, the car full on tumbled. 

It was all very fast—a terrible noise that made his skin recoil, and then it was all honks, metal crashing, and lights that burned his eyes before he clenched them shut. He felt his entire body move with the car, flying, tumbling every turn, a whirl of colors and—what was that _sound?—_ this wasn’t normal, this wasn’t a normal car crash…where were those colors coming from and thenoises….all bright and loud and someone was talking…

Then it all stopped—the noise and the brightness—and he still hadn’t caught his breath. 

_You’ve never been my father_ , echoed in his mind, before everything blacked out.

 

****

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, if any at all, but the next thing he knew, he was groaning, fumbling around him.He’s entire brain was jumbled, and his body felt very light, except for the uncomfortable snap of his neck against the footing of the car. 

“Peggy—” He gasped, opening his eyes to see the entire car had flipped. 

“Howard,” he heard Peggy cry from somewhere near his left. 

Reaching out with one hand, while keeping one sturdy on the floor, he wiggled around trying to feel any broken bones. There was a sharp pain in his ankle, the pounding of his head had to be his brain jumping around, and also he felt a pool of something warm against his thigh that had to be blood but he couldn’t be sure from his angle. 

It seemed his body had been thrown at a terribly awkward position. From the waist down, his body disappeared under a large crunch of metal that either was this car, or another car and he couldn’t decide which was worse. His vision was blurry, and for a moment he panicked that his legs might have been cut off but snapped that thought from his head quickly.He could feel his toes still, which was such a relief. 

“Peggy,” he groaned again, slowly moving his neck to the left. 

She seemed to be in just as much of a struggle as he was. Her cheek rested against the seat, but he legs had been thrown out of the crashed window. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked immediately, checking for blood anywhere. 

“No,” she replied curtly, though a line of dark blood cut across her forehead, the skin scraped and raw looking. “My body isn’t crushed, I got myself half thrown out the window. We’re on a street, luckily enough, but I can’t see anything else.”

“Okay,” he breathed, looking back down to himself, his brain already working many miles per hour as he tried to figure out how to get himself out of his current position. “Okay, good—do you think you can get out?”

She nods, her face twisting as she turned and wiggled her body. “Yes, the roads clear. I don’t hear any other cars either—I—it doesn’t make sense, Howard.”

“What do you mean—we were in a crash, Peggy—”

“I know—but we’re—we’re not in New York anymore. It’s an empty road….also, it’s nighttime,” she told him, frustrated. He watched the blood on her face as she turned back to him. “I don’t know where we are. It’s…”

“Not in New York? But we—we might have been out for a while,” he said, breathlessly, his brain staring to hurt again. “We both hit our heads, maybe we—where’s Happy?”

“Happy?” Peggy repeated, confused. She turned to the front of the car, which was crushed pretty spectacularly he was surprised they even survived. “Happy didn’t pick us up, Howard, it was another driver—”

“ _What?”_ Howard demanded, suddenly becoming very dumbfounded. 

“Just, let me get out of here, and then I’ll get you—” Peggy snapped, and then slowly wiggled the rest of her body out of the window, clearly struggling and Howard was about to make a joke about how her body wasn’t like it used to be, but then she cursed so loudly his heart almost stopped. 

“Peggy? Peggy what’s wrong? What is it, are you hurt?” He shouted, pulling his legs from the piece of metal that he realized must be the car doors, but found one of his ankles were stuck painfully on something. 

“Goddammit,” he cursed, struggling roughly, and ignoring the shooting pains in his ankle. 

“Howard, just wait, we’ll get you out of there,” Peggy shouted back, but her voice was tense.

“We?” He repeated, feeling a very unwelcome sense of dread pool in his stomach. “Who else is there? Peggy—”

“Please, you must help me friend, I’m not sure how we got here, we’ve been in accident,” he heard Peggy saying, and then there were other deeper voices, but they sounded distant and everything was blurring…

_I want you to leave…._

He must have fainted again, because the next thing he knew there were arms around him, pulling him and he cried out, his ankle scraping against something. 

“Sir, this is…”

“Shut-up, Ward,” a very familiar, deep voice cut out. “This is impossible, I know that. Did you call—”

“The Captain? Yes, sir, and Agent Romanoff” the same voice said, and Howard felt his eyes flutter, trying to put a face to these voices. 

Immediately he saw red and blue flashing lights, hitting his eyes harshly and he groaned. 

“Sir, don’t try to move,” a nice, soft voice said to him. “You were in an accident. Do you know your name?”

He tried to open his eyes, but the lights were searing into his mind too harshly. That must be the ambulances. 

“Where’s Peggy?” He slurred, moving a hand to touch his pounding forehead and feeling a warm mess of blood. 

“Sir, can you tell me your name?” The voice repeated and Howard wanted to reach out and grab him, because he had to know _his_ name. 

“I need Peggy…is she alright?” Howard asked again, his words sounding faint in his own ears. 

“Yes, sir,” the voice said, but it didn’t sound definite. Howard was getting stressed—what the hell was going on—“Please, what is your name?”

“Howard Stark,” he choked out, his eyes finally adjusting to the harsh light. He looked up to see the face of a young, confused woman with blonde hair. She was clearly a paramedic. 

“Mr. Fury, I think you should—,” the young woman started to say, but was cut off as another face came into Howard’s view. This face he knew—but it was older…way, way older. But how—

“That’s Director Fury, and I know what the man said,” the tall man with the eyepatch said, glaring down at him.

Howard groaned, and collapsed against something soft he realized he was laying on. This was all getting very strange. He must be dreaming…he did get in a car crash right? Everything seemed to blur together now. Where was Peggy…?

“Send him back to base,” Director Fury said. “And take the woman with. I’m not sure what this is, but these two have much explaining to do.”

Howard felt many things floating away now, the darkness settling back in. Something was wrapping his leg, and he felt himself being pushed towards the flashing lights again. 

“Also,” he heard the Director’s voice say, faintly now, as if he was walking away, “someone get Tony Stark on the phone.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, I don't really know. Let's just see where this goes. 
> 
> :-)


End file.
